


Sherlock Holmes/Reader Requests

by youvebeenlivingfictional



Category: Enola Holmes (2020)
Genre: Dad!Sherlock (in one), Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Uuuuh what else is in here, Victorian Glove Rules™, proposal, tumblr asks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28038543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youvebeenlivingfictional/pseuds/youvebeenlivingfictional
Summary: Asks that I got and answered on Tumblr
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Asks that I got and answered on Tumblr (my account is youvebeenlivingfictional, as it is here, come and say hi :D)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 48\. One person has to bend down in order to kiss their partner, who is standing on their tip-toes to reach their partner’s.

“…What _are_ you doing up there?”  
  
“Reading,” You answered without looking away from your book.  
  
“That can hardly be comfortable.”  
  
You looked down from where you were leaning against the library rolling ladder.  
  
“… I’m not sure I’d call it markedly _un_ comfortable,” You closed the book you’d been looking through and replacing it on the shelf before reaching for another one.  
  
“You know, I’ve heard it’s common for people to take the books that they want and to settle in _chairs_ ,” Sherlock stopped beside you. You grunted, muttering, “Boring. Here,” Before holding the book out to him.  
  
“What’s this for?” He asked, frowning and looking down at the spine, “The Descriptive Atlas of Anatomy?”  
  
“Enola mentioned she wants to delve deeper into biology.”  
  
“You think that’s appropriate?” Sherlock asked, brows drawing together. You looked down at him, raising a brow.  
  
“You know as well as I that if the materials aren’t given to her here, she will seek them out herself.”  
  
Sherlock’s lips pursed as he hummed in acknowledgment, looking back down at the book.  
  
“And will you tell me something else?” He asked, glancing up as you began to look over books ago.  
  
“Yes, what is it?”  
  
“Why were you reading a book on chess strategy when I came in?”  
  
He smiled, watching your cheeks pink.  
  
“Was I?” You asked as nonchalantly as possible.  
  
“You were,” Sherlock nodded.  
  
“Just skimming it to see if it was anything I’d be interested in, I suppose,” You excused. Sherlock shook his head.  
  
“You don’t need to study chess. I don’t want an opponent in you, I already have what I want.”  
  
You frowned, looking down at him.  
  
“And what is that?”  
  
“A worthy partner.”  
  
You couldn’t help your smile. You leaned down, careful of your balance on the ladder. You two were so, _so_ close.  
  
“Stand on your _bloody tip-toes_ , Sherlock,” You laughed, grinning as he obliged and kissed you gently. He leaned away again, and you straightened up on the ladder.  
  
“I think I know the real reason you don’t want me to learn how to play chess,” You said, pulling out the first book you’d been looking at back off of the shelf. His brow arched as he watched you climb down the ladder.  
  
“Oh? What’s that?”  
  
“You’re afraid you’ll lose,” You answered, before brushing past him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 13\. You know, I never realized how literal of a term love sickness actually is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi ! Can you do number 13 with Sherlock (if you feel inspired) ? Have a nice day !!

Once you and Sherlock had gotten engaged, you’d been permitted to spend time alone. You valued your time with him – without the prying eyes and ears of your mother as a chaperone.   
  
“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked, walking into your sitting room. You didn’t lift your hand away from where it was covering your eyes.   
  
“My mother has demanded that I have five bridesmaids, even though I’ve told her that I only want three. She’s also told me that I need to have orange blossoms in my bouquet, and if I don’t, she’ll disown me.”   
  
“They are traditional,” Sherlock pointed out. You lowered your hand to look at him, and spotted the smug twist of his lips.   
  
“You know, I never realized how literal of a term _love_ _sickness_ actually is,” You said, propping your head up on your hand.  
  
“And what’s made you realize it now?” Sherlock asked, sitting on the ottoman beside your armchair.   
  
“You’re giving me a headache.”   
  
Sherlock chuckled.   
  
“I will speak to your mother about the bridesmaids if you agree to have the orange blossoms in your bouquet. You know as well as I that she is less likely to sway on the flowers than she is on the wedding party.”   
  
“Remember when you asked me to elope, and I said that having a proper wedding would be the respectable thing to do? I’ve changed my mind.”   
  
Sherlock smiled, reaching up and pushing a lock of your hair away from your face.   
  
“It’s too late for that, I’m afraid,” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead.   
  
“Tell me what else you need for me to speak to your mother about,” He urged gently. You shook your head.   
  
“The bridesmaid conversation will be battle enough.”   
  
“You’re sure there’s nothing else I can do to make the day more the way you’d like it?” He asked. You smiled, patting his cheek.   
  
“Don’t worry. My mother assured me that I can have a wedding the way I like it…As soon as I have a daughter that’s getting married. “


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9\. “I don’t love- …Shit, I love them, don’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again :D uhh sorry but 9 romance prompt with henry cavill sherlock please? 👉👈 i love how you write him and im starving for henry sherlock/reader fics

Your mother watched, amused, as you paced back and forth in the sitting room.   
  
“Do sit down, dear,” She urged, “You’re making me anxious.”   
  
“Well I’d like to be prepared in case Mr. Holmes arrives,” You said.   
  
“Prepare for what? As it stands, it looks as if you’re preparing for battle.”   
  
“Perhaps I am - a battle of wits. He can be rather a know-it-all.”   
  
“He does challenge you,” Your mother conceded, “Though you seem to enjoy the time you spend…Well, you are conversing with him, but on the face of it, it sounds more like bickering.”   
  
“We do not _bicker,_ we…” You stopped pacing, considering this for a moment before you turned back to your mother, “… It doesn’t matter.”   
  
“Does it not?” Your mother asked, “You seem to light up a bit more than you do when certain of your other callers are around. I think you enjoy the challenge.”   
  
“That’s absurd–  
  
“I _think_ you enjoy Mr. Holmes.”   
  
You stared down at your mother.   
  
“That– That is preposterous,” You scoffed, “I do not _enjoy_ Mr. Holmes. He’s insufferable! He only calls on me to vex me.”   
  
“He’s a busy man, dear, I’m sure it’s more than that–”  
  
“I have no feelings of affection whatsoever for him.”   
  
“Who said anything about affection? I merely said that you enjoy his company.”   
  
“Well– Well had you said anything of the kind, you’d be wrong. I am not in love with Mr. Holmes.”   
  
“My, you’re making pronouncements this morning, aren’t you,” Your mother turned back to her needle point.   
  
–  
  
You didn’t know that, on the other side of London, Sherlock was having rather a busy morning himself.   
  
A curious case - a man had gone missing, and his wife had failed to report it for months; now she was trying to claim he was presumed dead, and to collect his life insurance policy. Lestrade had been suspicious and had reached out to Sherlock. Now Sherlock was combing through all of the evidence; he’d already been through the man’s workplace, his home, his usual pub. Now he was visiting his home again.   
  
The wife watched on, wary, as Sherlock looked over the bookshelf. But in truth, his mind was only half on the matter at hand.   
  
_Treasure Island._  
  
He planned to call on you later that day. He’d tried to call on you the day before; Mycroft had waylaid him, and by the time he’d arrived, he’d been informed that you had gone out.   
  
_Vanity Fair_.   
  
When he’d first met you, you’d intrigued him; despite the fact that it was generally frowned upon for a woman to be versed in politics, you’d shown yourself to be well-informed when introduced to both him and Mycroft at a dinner party. You were assertive and blunt. He valued your candor where Mycroft had dismissed you and declared that you were ill-suited for marriage.   
  
He’d begun to call on you, and found that your personalities were similar - almost to the point of irritation. But when Sherlock thought about you, he didn’t feel _irritation,_ he felt… Well it was difficult to pinpoint what he felt.   
  
_Frankenstein_.   
  
Fascination was one thing that he could identify. You fascinated him daily. You were always bursting with new ideas, questions, opinions. You liked to stay up to date with the world, and with this knowledge came new questions.   
  
_Notre-Dame de Paris._

Happiness, oddly, was another. When he saw you, he felt… Happy. Even if you were scowling at him, he felt happy.

 _Les Trois Mousquetaires_.  
  
Desire was a third. He’d never felt quite a pull toward anyone the way he did to you. He wanted to know what it would be like to wrap his arms around you; he wanted to watch your face flush as he tenderly loosened the snug silk gloves finger by finger before pressing a kiss to your palm; he wanted to kiss you.   
  
He wanted so badly to kiss you.   
  
_Madame Bovary._  
  
Surely it wasn’t love. He’d felt that before, but it had been familial. This was different. What he felt for you was… Different. New. He didn’t love you. He didn’t love you.   
  
The wife’s maiden name was Brodeur; her English was perfect, but there was just a hint of an accent when she spoke; there had been a 5 Franc silver coin in the man’s desk.  
  
Shit. He loved you.   
  
“Madame, you’ll be relieved to know that I know where your husband is,” He turned to the woman, watching the blood drain from her face.  
  
–   
  
“Mr. Holmes for you,” Your attention was drawn as your maid announced Sherlock. You felt your heart begin to pound as turned to face him, hands clasped in front of yourself. Your mother rose from her seat to greet him.   
  
“Rather late in the morning, Mr. Holmes. We were beginning to think you wouldn’t call today, either,” Your mother smiled. Sherlock cast a glance between the two of you at the implication.   
  
“Apologies, ma’am, I was solving a case across town. I was by yesterday, but I was told that I’d missed you.”   
  
Your mother settled back down at her needle point. You sat on the window seat behind her armchair and waited for Sherlock to join you.   
  
“What was the case?” You asked, watching him shift to get comfortable - and move closer to you in the process.   
  
“A missing person that turned out to be not so missing after all - it was a ruse to collect an insurance policy.”   
  
Your brows rose.   
  
“Sounds mildly devious.”   
  
“One of the less gruesome cases I’ve been involved with as of late.”   
  
“And now that you’ve solved it, will you reward yourself for a job well done?”   
  
Sherlock’s brow raised.   
  
“I _am_ rewarding myself.”   
  
You glanced out of the window, feeling the color rise in your cheeks.   
  
“Surely there’s something more enjoyable than coming here.”   
  
“None that I can think of.”   
  
You looked down as you felt Sherlock’s hand cover yours. Your eyes darted to the back of your mother’s chair, but she seemed sufficiently occupied.   
  
“And– And after this? What will you do?” You asked to keep Sherlock speaking. You knew that either of you going quiet for too long would arouse your mother’s suspicions and cause her to turn around.   
  
“I’m… Unsure,” Sherlock spoke slowly as he turned your hand over with his. He watched your face as he gently rolled the fabric of your glove down to reveal your wrist, “There’s always another case, of course. One just has to know where to look.”  
  
He leaned down as he lifted your hand, pressing a kiss to your wrist. You watched him, breathing shallowly as he careful replaced your glove.   
  
“I must get down to Scotland Yard and let them know of my findings, but may I call on you again tomorrow?” He murmured. You nodded, and he gave you a tender smile.   
  
“Then I’ll be on my way.” He pressed a kiss to your gloved palm before standing. He said goodbye to your mother, and you watched through the curtains as he left.   
  
“Well, my dear? Still certain that you have no feelings for Mr. Holmes whatsoever?” Your mother asked with a knowing smile.   
  
“…Hm?” You answered smartly. Your mother just sighed and lowered herself back into her seat, resuming her needlepoint.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Convince me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think 4. "Convince me" practically screams Sherlock 👀
> 
> (It really does though)  
> (Also books were a traditional Victorian courting gift)

“When are you going to ask me to marry you?” You asked.   
  
Sherlock didn’t answer for a moment, just turned away from the other people in the park that he’d been observing.   
  
“Pardon?” He asked. You huffed, knowing full well that he’d heard you.   
  
“You need to propose to me, Sherlock.”   
  
“That’s rather a bold statement.”   
  
“ _Sherlock–”_

“Convince me.”   
  
“…Are you serious?”   
  
“Explain to me why you think I ought to propose.”   
  
You turned, beginning to walk away from him. Sherlock matched your stride, arms tucked behind his back as he waited for your answer. You knew that your chaperone was also following close behind.  
  
“You’ve been calling on me nearly every day for months now.”   
  
“You interest me.”   
  
“You’ve bought me books–”  
  
“To further your education–”   
  
“You’ve spoken to my father,” You cut in, looking up at him. Sherlock’s step faltered before his eyes caught on yours, looking down at you in mild surprise.   
  
“… I have,” He agreed.   
  
“What did he say?” You asked.   
  
“He gave me his permission.”   
  
You nodded once, content, before facing forward again.  
  
“I interest you,” You reminded him.   
  
“You do.”   
  
“You are… Fond of me?”   
  
“I am.”   
  
“You, presumably, don’t find me wholly unattractive.”   
  
You heard him scoff.   
  
“Don’t be absurd,” He grumbled. You sighed, looking up at him from under your lashes.  
  
“You need to propose.”   
  
Sherlock’s eyes searched your face.   
  
“There is one incredibly important thing that you’ve left out,” He said.   
  
“And what’s that?” You demanded.   
  
“Whether or not you are as fond of me as well.”   
  
You felt a smile pulling at your lips.   
  
“If I were not fond of you, I would not be demanding a proposal. I’m not typically this imperious.”   
  
“Shame.”   
  
You narrowed your eyes at Sherlock. You cast a look in the direction of your chaperone before facing forward.   
  
“Well?” You asked, “Convinced?”   
  
Sherlock hummed, thoughtful, before he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a ring, the diamond glinting in the sunlight. He held it out to you as you stopped walking.  
  
“Convinced.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I told you to stop competing with the Holmes boy!” Your mother scolded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you’re 👀 taking requests 👀👀👀 can i request a Henry!Sherlock x reader where they’re competitive since they were very young, and she’s the only one who can match up to him? and there’s all this tension between them but neither one will ask about it because they’re afraid it’ll throw off whatever balance they have? if that’s confusing just lmk lmaoo sorry if it’s too boring to want to write

“What did you do?”   
  
You hung your head as your mother bent down to inspect your dirty dress and scuffed knees.   
  
“…Sherlock and I had a race,” You mumbled. Your mother, huffed, standing and taking you by the hand, dragging you up to your room to clean you up.   
  
“I told you to stop competing with the Holmes boy!” She scolded.   
  
You were only seven; your mother didn’t begrudge you playing with the boys down the road, but this was getting out of hand. The week before, you’d come home with a ripped sleeve because you and Sherlock had challenged one another to see who could climb a tree the quickest.   
  
“…Did you beat him, at least?” Your mother asked. You turned a smile up at her, and she sighed.   
  
“Get changed, I’ll add that dress to the pile to be cleaned and mended.”

–  
  
“…Check.”   
  
You groaned as Sherlock said so for the eighth time that game.   
  
“Couldn’t you two call it a bloody tie?” Mycroft asked boredly from the armchair he was lounging in not too far off.   
  
“No,” You said sharply.   
  
“What’s it matter to you?” Sherlock added, glancing back at Mycroft.   
  
It was rare that you had a chance to spend the afternoon with Sherlock, and it had surprised you that Mycroft had bothered to hang around. Mycroft didn’t answer, but you glanced up to see him roll his eyes.   
  
“It’s just a game,” Mycroft turned the page of his book. You turned back to the board.   
  
“Yes, it is…One that I am about to win. Checkmate,” You moved your Queen. Sherlock wasted no time in resetting the pieces on the board as he said,   
  
“Best two out of three.”   
  
“You two are ridiculous,” Mycroft groaned.   
  
At the age of sixteen, other men had already called you far kinder things than that, but you weren’t particularly worried about what Mycroft thought of you. You glanced up at Sherlock, watching him finish resetting your pieces. Sherlock never went out of his way to compliment you, but then, he didn’t call you _ridiculous_ , either. 

–

“Must you?”   
  
You could hear Sherlock’s disinterest. And frankly, while you had no interest in your practicing the waltz, either, you had to. Now that you were eighteen, you would be presented to society soon. You let go of Mycroft’s hand and turned to where Sherlock was reading the paper. You folded your arms over your chest, raising a brow.   
  
“You’re only in a foul mood because you’re awful at it.”   
  
You thrilled at the irritated little twitch in the muscle of Sherlock’s jaw.   
  
“I’m perfectly skilled at the waltz, thank you,” He returned crisply.   
  
“I somehow doubt that.”   
  
The two of you stared one another down for a moment before Sherlock folded the paper and set it aside, standing. You heard Mycroft sigh heavily, “I’ll count,” behind you as he stepped to the side of the room.   
  
Sherlock bowed to you as you curtsied to him. You held one another’s gazes as he took hold of your hand and rested his hand on your back. You took hold of your skirt to keep it out of the way of your feet. The two of you glided around the room together, moving as one seamlessly. Neither of you missed a step; neither of you checked to see if the other’s feet were doing the right thing.   
  
After a certain point, you realized that Mycroft had stopped counting. You glanced over to where he’d been and realized that he’d left the room. In your distraction, you missed a step.   
  
You stumbled. Sherlock’s arm tightened around your waist, pressing you to his chest and keeping you upright. You looked up at him, swallowing thickly.   
  
“Are you alright?” He frowned.   
  
You were rarely this close to anyone, let alone Sherlock. Had his eyes always been that blue?   
  
“I– Yes.” You stepped back, letting go of Sherlock’s hand. His hand fell away from your waist, brow furrowed as he watched you. You smoothed your hands over your skirt as you gathered yourself.   
  
“Your waltz skills are…Adequate,” You conceded.   
  
“Yours aren’t and you clearly need more practice,” He held his hand out to you. You scoffed, taking hold of his hand again.   
  
– 

“Can you make a ring?” You asked, watching Sherlock puff his pipe.   
  
“A ring?” He repeated.   
  
You’d dropped in on Baker Street as you did often. It was the midst of your second London season and you’d managed to give your chaperon the slip. You held your hand out for his pipe, and he hesitated before passing it off to you. You took a pull from it before you tipped your head up, blowing a few smoke rings.   
  
“…How on earth did you learn how to do that?”   
  
You chuckled at his almost incredulous tone.   
  
“Picked it up at finishing school.”   
  
“Presumably outside of the classroom?”   
  
“ _Presumably_ ,” You teased before taking another puff of the pipe. You felt Sherlock watching you, and you blew a few more rings before turning to meet Sherlock’s eyes. He was looking at your lips. You lowered your eyes, passing the pipe back to Sherlock.   
  
“You can’t do that, can you?” You added. You watched him take the pipe back, saw him take two puff before he blew a few rings. He then blew a line of smoke that seemed to go through one of them. You narrowed your eyes at his grin and held your hand out.   
  
“Give it back.”   
  
–  
  
“You’re welcome, by the way.”   
  
“I did say ‘thank you’,” Sherlock grumbled. You chuckled at his tone.   
  
“I could’ve done it without you,” He added.   
  
“Mm, but you didn’t. You solved that case with my help,” You smiled before adding, “It’s your turn.”   
  
“I’m well aware of that, thank you. I’d have taken it by now if you would stop talking,” Sherlock said, leaning over the chessboard.   
  
“My, someone is testy about sharing credit, isn’t he,” You teased.   
  
“Not at all.”   
  
“Oh no? The great Sherlock Holmes is not ashamed to have to share credit with someone, let alone a woman?”   
  
“That has nothing to do with it,” He dismissed the notion, moving his knight.   
  
“What has you in such a mood, then?” You asked. When Sherlock didn’t answer, you glanced up at him, frowning when you saw him watching you.   
  
“…Sherlock?” You sat up straighter to get a better look at him. He didn’t answer your question, merely waved to the board and grumbled, “You’re taking too long.”   
  
–   
  
“He’s awfully handsome, isn’t he?” You heard someone sigh behind you.   
  
You glanced in the direction of the rhetorical question, which had been met with a fair amount of giggling and fan-fluttering.   
  
It was true, of course. It wasn’t lost on you how attractive Sherlock had grown to be. What was lost on you was why he’d been in a perfectly foul mood for the last two weeks. The man had sworn up and down that it had absolutely nothing to do with the lead that you’d given him on his last case. You hadn’t brought it up again after that chess game, since he’d seemed so testy. And sure, you and Sherlock had always been a little more competitive and teasing than society thought friends ought to be, let alone a man and a woman, but that was just how the two of you were.   
  
Still, there was teasing, and then there was upset. Sherlock seemed upset, and you didn’t know why. You didn’t know how to fix it, either. He’d stopped calling on you as often, and while the two of you still wrote, his letters were much more to-the-point. It was frustrating.   
  
You’d come to care for Sherlock. You’d known how you’d felt about him for quite some time, and you were certain that he’d never return your feelings. You’d determined never to make them known, of course; he was your oldest and dearest friend, you cared for him more than almost anyone else in the world. Telling him how you felt could mean making things uncomfortable between the two of you, and losing him.   
  
Of course, now it seemed like you’d managed to do that, regardless.   
  
“ _He’s coming, sssh_!” You heard behind you. It snapped you from your reverie and you raised your eyes to find that Sherlock was, in fact, striding across the room. You were familiar with the group of women behind you, and you found yourself wondering just who the object of Sherlock’s interest might be. There were quite a few sweet and clever ones in the group, women that could make Sherlock happy, that could–   
  
But then he stopped in front of you, and dipped a bow, and held his hand out.   
  
“If I may have this dance?” He asked, smiling.   
  
But there was something different about this smile. It wasn’t one that you’d seen before, not a familiar and teasing pull of the lips. No, this was soft and warm, and his eyes were a little nervous. You felt yourself smile in turn, and you dipped a small curtsy, keeping your eyes on his.   
  
“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Holmes.”   
  
Where you’d once dreaded the waltz, you now reveled in it. Gliding in Sherlock’s arms felt easy. You moved together as effortlessly as you once did, keeping your eyes on his.   
  
“Sherlock?”   
  
“Yes?”   
  
“…Are you quite well? – That is… You’ve been in such a mood, and…”   
  
His brows raised, amused, as you tried to find a delicate way to say what you were trying to say.   
  
“I was worried about you,” You added quietly.   
  
“It was not my intention to make you worry,” He gave your hand a small squeeze, “I apologize. I’ve been…Mulling over a few things.”   
  
“Such as?”   
  
“Such as… The components needed for a good partnership between two married persons.”   
  
“And what conclusion have you come to?”   
  
“Shared values, trust, affection, respect… a strong foundation.”   
  
“A strong foundation?” You repeated, frowning. Sherlock’s steps slowed, then stilled as the waltz ended. He didn’t let go of your waist or your hand as he should’ve.   
  
“…A strong friendship, perhaps?” He ventured quietly. You felt your heart fluttering like one of the fans of the women watching you.   
  
“I see,” You said dazedly.   
  
“Have I missed the mark entirely?” He asked, lowering his hand from your waist. You grinned at him, feeling shy around him for the first time in your life.   
  
“Holmes, you astound me.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 15\. “You really are your [mother/father]’s child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I was wondering if you could do 15 from the babies list w/ Sherlock? Thank you!

Your daughter was exceptionally bright. You hadn’t expected anything less - you were well-educated, and her _father_ , well. Sherlock had a sharp and fast mind, one that often baffled, excited, and delighted you. You could _see_ the gears turning when he thought.   
  
So as your daughter grew, under Sherlock and Enola’s tutelage, you hadn’t been terribly surprised that your daughter’s mind made the same leaps, turned the same gears as her father’s did. She really was her father’s child. Sometimes that made you feel…A little left out. You knew that it wasn’t something that Sherlock or his family did on purpose; they were just… the way that they were. It was one of the things that you loved about him, and something that you loved about your daughter, but sometimes you felt a little on the outside.   
  
That was why it was such a surprise to hear what you heard.   
  
You’d been tidying up the sitting room - Sherlock had taken your daughter in to put her to bed. That had been some time ago. You crept over to her bedroom door, leaning against it. You smiled, hearing Sherlock reading _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ aloud.   
  
“That’s all for tonight, little one,” You heard Sherlock say.   
  
“One more chapter,” Your daughter insisted. You smiled as you heard Sherlock chuckle and repeat, “One more chapter?”   
  
You heard the turn of a page, and then Sherlock’s soft declaration of, “You really are your mother’s child.”   
  
You felt your heart swell at the way he said it - not a condemnation, but a compliment.   
  
You stayed in the doorway, listening to Sherlock read. His voice grew progressively more quiet before it dropped off completely. You took a step back, looking up at Sherlock as he opened the door and stepped out of her room.   
  
“She’s asleep,” He murmured, shutting the door behind himself. You nodded before you reached up, drawing Sherlock into a kiss. He hummed, arms wrapping around your waist and drawing you closer. You smiled as he rested his forehead against yours.   
  
“That little girl has her father’s mind,” You murmured. He chuckled.   
  
“And her mother’s curiosity.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How could you ask me that?” + “Have you lost your damn mind?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Cursing, pregnancy mention; angst angst angst!!! (as requested ;) )

Sherlock made it a point to study human behavior. He knew _people_ , he knew what it looked like when people were hiding things.   
  
You were hiding something from him.   
  
If you were hiding it from anyone else, it would’ve been quite clever, too, the way you’d gone about it. None of your daily routines had changed; your wardrobe had been updated, but only slightly; you were in an excellent mood, but you’d been careful not to appear too chipper; you’d taken to buying fresh flowers at the market daily as well. You’d never cared to do such a thing before.   
  
Something was certainly amiss.

You’d written no new appointments in your datebook; you’d made no effort to mention any such appointments to him, either, as that would’ve made him suspicious. You were right, too. It would’ve.   
  
Little did you know that he was suspicious as it was.   
  
Lack of written appointment aside, you _did_ meet with someone - a man; an old family friend of yours, someone that Sherlock had heard you speak rather fondly of in the past. He knew so because he’d followed you, at some distance, that morning.   
  
When you’d married, Sherlock had sworn to both himself and you that he would never become the suspicious type, that he would bring any questions that he had about your conduct to you, and not worry about what you filled your days with, rather than letting his fears fester the way so many jealous husbands did. But when you returned home that day with a fresh bunch of blue violets (which symbolized faithfulness, how ironic), you found your husband in quite the state.   
  
You didn’t need to try and draw him out. Sherlock immediately began asking questions of you like you were one of the criminals that he chased for a living and not his _wife_.   
  
“Where were you?” He watched as you got a vase down for the flowers. You glanced back at him.   
  
“I was out, dearest.”   
  
“Out where?”   
  
“Just…Out. What does it matter where I was?” You laughed.

Sherlock had never taken such an interest in your day to day without him before.   
  
“It matters a great deal. And let me tell you why, _dearest_ ,” Sherlock spat the pet name back at you as though it were poison, “You are quite aware that your reputation will be very much in question if you, a married woman, were known to have been in the apartments of a single man for much of the afternoon.”   
  
You stilled from where you’d been arranging the flowers and turned, brow furrowing.   
  
“…Pardon me?”   
  
“What were you doing there?”   
  
“Did you _follow_ me?”   
  
“You are my wife, I’ve a right to know what you’re up to.”   
  
“When have you ever cared what I’ve been up to?– And I was not up to anything!”   
  
“Then why not tell me at my first asking exactly where you were?”   
  
“Because–”   
  
“Are you having an affair?”   
  
The question was like a blow. You stared at Sherlock in shock, shaking your head as tears began to brim in your eyes.   
  
“ **How could you ask me that?** ” You breathed out.   
  
“It’s a simple question, one which requires just as simple an answer: A yes or a no.”   
  
“Sherlock–”  
  
“A _yes_ or a _no_ –”  
  
“ **Have you lost your damn mind?!** ” You snapped, “You truly believe that I would have an affair?– I went to see Benjamin, yes, because he is a doctor.”   
  
Sherlock paused in his tirade, watching as tears began to spill down your cheeks.   
  
“A doctor,” He repeated, eyes searching you for any sign of pain or injury, “You went to a doctor? Have you been unwell? You’ve seemed perfectly alright–”   
  
“I’ve–… I’ve been more than alright, Sherlock, I am with child,” You braced a hand on the table where you’d set the flowers; the tears began to spill faster as your breathing stuttered, “I hadn’t– I went to Benjamin to confirm– I didn’t want a doctor to come to the house– I wanted it to be a surprise.”   
  
Sherlock felt joy rise in him as instantly as regret.   
  
“…Sweetling,” He mumbled, stepping close to you, “A baby–” He reached out for you, but you held a hand up to stop him.   
  
“Don’t,” You shook your head, refusing to meet his eyes, “Don’t touch me.”   
  
You straightened, turning away from him and going into your bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind yourself. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make me hate you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh this one wound up a bit… fluffier? Sorry??

Mycroft didn’t like you.   
  
Enola seemed to tolerate you.   
  
Your mother had long warned you that your home would only be as warm as the family that you became a part of so– well, how were you and Sherlock ever to be happy?   
  
It wasn’t as if the two of you were a _love_ match as it stood. Your honor had been compromised, the Holmes’ were old family friends, and Mycroft would not dare to stoop so low as to be the one to marry you. That had left Sherlock.   
  
And even Sherlock only seemed… Slightly interested in your existence. He took little note of your comings and goings to Baker Street when you came to speak to him about wedding plans; he left the arrangements up to you, declaring them women’s issues.   
  
So you started to… Do little things. Call him atrocious pet names, leave his belongings all out of sorts. If Sherlock came to loathe you, he’d call the engagement off and you could retreat to your family’s country home. Perhaps you could become a nun? Or flee to the continent, you hadn’t decided yet.   
  
“…That is not how that piece moves,” Sherlock sounded utterly _irritated_ , and you had to keep yourself from grinning as you slid your knight sideways across the board.   
  
“Is it not?” You played dumb. Sherlock’s eyes flicked to you.   
  
“No.”   
  
“Oh…Never did like chess,” You leaned back in your seat, “I rather think you must hate playing with someone that doesn’t understand the game.”   
  
Sherlock puffed on his pipe for a moment before he reached out, resetting your piece.   
  
“ ** _Is that what you’re doing? Trying to make me hate you?_** ”   
  
He asked it so plainly; fear rolled through you like thunder.   
  
“Whatever do you mean?” You asked, shaking your head. He chuckled.   
  
“A good try, if not a bumbling one,” He informed you, “Now, shall I give you a list of books on chess for further reading, or shall I teach you myself?” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “You can’t protect me.”

He had explicitly told you to stay out of it.   
  
Despite the fact that you had given Sherlock the lead on his latest case, he had reassured you that he didn’t need your help.   
  
And you had reassured him that he couldn’t be more wrong.   
  
You’d gone out of your way to be discreet of course, had kept out of Sherlock’s way and been sure not to cross him or make additional work for him. But by the end of the case, your little secret was exposed, and Sherlock was furious.   
  
“I told you to stay out of it!”   
  
“And I told you that you wouldn’t be able to complete the case without my help! And look, I was right,” You gave Sherlock a smug smile before adding, “Why are you so incensed? All’s well that ends well, Holmes.”   
  
“This is not a time for jokes. You could’ve been seriously hurt.”   
  
You were quiet for a few moments, searching Sherlock’s face.   
  
“I know that you think that shutting me out will keep me safe, but **you can’t protect me** by pushing me away, Sherlock.”   
  
Sherlock sighed tiredly, lowering himself onto the couch.   
  
“You really are the most stubborn woman in England, aren’t you.”   
  
You smiled before forcing a pout onto your face.   
  
“Why limit me to England?” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I think I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified”

Sherlock Holmes was certainly not the…Chattiest man you’d ever met.   
  
That is, sometimes you just needed to help him along a little bit. Once you got him on a subject that he was well and truly fascinated by, it was hard to get the man to stop speaking (not that you wanted him to stop speaking - Sherlock always knew the most interesting things). The walks that he accompanied you on were either very, very chatty or very, very quiet, and it was for this reason that all of London society had a devil of a time working out whether or not the man was actually courting you in earnest.   
  
Indeed, you were having a bit of trouble working that out yourself.   
  
Of course, you’d never out and asked Sherlock if he was courting you. That wasn’t the sort of thing you thought you could ever get the detective to speak on at length, so the question never passed your lips. And there were other suitors, men that were far more clear with their intentions, but… Well, none of them were Sherlock.   
  
The two of you were having a quiet morning. Your mother was walking behind you, at some length, with Mycroft Holmes (you’d have to thank her for that later; she abhorred Mycroft’s company as much as you did). You’d perused the paper that morning for topics that might interest Sherlock and get him talking, but you’d yet to spark a conversation.   
  
The two of you stopped on a bridge, overlooking the water.   
  
“… You seem quite ill at ease, Mr. Holmes. Is something wrong?” You finally asked.   
  
“Not wrong, no.”   
  
“No?” You asked, turning a little to face him, “If not wrong, then–”   
  
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but if I do not say this now, I’m not sure I ever will,” Sherlock continued to look out over the river, “ **I think I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified**.”   
  
You blinked up at him for a moment before turning to look out over the water.   
  
“Ah.”   
  
“Ah?” Sherlock repeated, “I spill my heart to you and all you can say is ‘ah’?”   
  
“Am I so terrifying?” You looked up at him, asking a new question rather than answer his.   
  
“ _You_ are not. But… You must know, that I am not well-moneyed. I have no title, no land. Mycroft is the first son, Ferndell falls to him. My prospects are not as lofty, say, as some of your other suitors. And you’d be a fool to choose me over one of them.”   
  
“Then you’re terrified because you don’t want to be a genius that’s in love with a fool.”   
  
“…You misunderstand me,” Sherlock frowned, “I don’t want you to awaken one morning and feel that you’ve made a mistake by marrying lower than you’re able.”   
  
You looked up at Sherlock, shaking your head.   
  
“I only fear waking up unhappy, to a monotonous life. My life would never be monotonous with you, Sherlock.”   
  
He gave a small smile, lowering his eyes.   
  
“…Are you terrified still?” You asked gently.   
  
“You’ve eased that fear, sweetling.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts: "I’m sorry if this upsets you, but I’m going to marry her/him.” ; “You can’t protect me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst

It wasn’t a question of what you wanted. It had _never_ been a question of what you wanted. You were the only daughter born to your parents, the elder child. You were expected to bring your family into a good social standing, to elevate their position in society, to open your brother up to new prospects as he grew older.

It wasn’t a question of what you wanted. Your time spent with Sherlock Holmes was a mere…Flirtation– one that you looked back on fondly. They were moments that you’d reflect on when you were in Harringmore Hall with your new husband, the Duke of Stoughshire. You were to be a _Duchess_. That was what your mother had told you, just before you were sent in to accept the Duke’s proposal. She hadn’t asked you if it was what you wanted. It had never been a question of what you wanted. 

Worst of all had been the day that had followed, when Sherlock had come to offer his _congratulations_. You’d been stunned. Sherlock wasn’t the type to flatter or be insincere unless it served a purpose, and it would serve him no purpose with you.   
  
He had stood by the door at first, careful not to get too close, and he’d asked you if you were marrying the Duke because it was what you wanted.   
  
You hadn’t known how to answer, at first. You’d finally managed,   
  
“ **I’m sorry if this upsets you, but I’m going to marry him.** ”   
  
“Upsets _me_?” Sherlock had drifted closer to you then, eyes roaming your face, your form, “Of the two of us, I am not the one in distress.”   
  
And then he’d offered…An escape.   
  
“Let us leave,” He’d murmured, “Together– _Tonight_.”   
  
“I cannot–”   
  
“Why?” Sherlock had cupped your chin and lifted your head to meet his eyes, “You know as well as I that you’ll be _miserable_ as the Duchess of Stoughshire. You do not love him–”   
  
“Do not presume to know the workings of my heart, Mr. Holmes–”   
  
“Dove,” Sherlock had murmured, and you’d gone quiet. You were furious, yes, and scared, but it wasn’t his fault, and you couldn’t bear to turn that fury to him.   
  
“… **You can’t protect me** , Sherlock. This is to be my life now. I have a duty to my family.”   
  
Sherlock had let go of your face, then, and taken a step back.   
  
“Well, then,” He’d spoken with a crisp tone; his eyes had gone cold, “I wish you luck with your future husband. You shall need it.”   
  
He’d left you with that.   
  
You lowered yourself into your seat.   
  
If you felt you had any choice, you’d leave with him, of course you would. You loved Sherlock, you wanted him.   
  
But it wasn’t about what you wanted. It never had been. 


End file.
